


cradled

by simplecoffee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers Mansion, Fluff, Gen, Post-Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee
Summary: She's tired of being on the run.
Relationships: Friday & Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	cradled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



She slips in through the vents. Tony keeps them as well-monitored as the doors and windows, but she figures old habits, figures it'll give him something to laugh about. It gives her something to laugh about. That's been lacking, lately.

FRIDAY's well within her rights to throw her out. She's almost expecting some kind of resistance; Tony's bots are unflinchingly loyal, more so since JARVIS died, and she's been on the run for months, since she left him at the airport. Regardless, her path through the mansion remains unblocked.

She's not here to surrender, but she isn't here to tempt fate, either. She doesn't speak to FRIDAY, doesn't stop to look at the paintings on the walls, to think of how much this feels like home - how much she let it slip under her skin, the feeling of making a difference, of having a team. Having four walls she belonged within. Having a room tucked away in a corner to call her very own.

It's exactly as she left it. She's put few personal touches in it over the years, but it still smells familiar, still has her favourite ruby-red blanket spread invitingly across the bed, promising warmth to her aching muscles, solace to her bruises and sprains. She wants to hate the sight of it, wants to see it as a weakness, but she's tired, and she's hurting, and she _doesn't_ \- not at all.

Something in her cries protocol; something else cries shame to think of dirtying up the bed she's missed too much to ever admit aloud. Both those thoughts drive her to the shower first. She steps out of her catsuit, lets the water pound heat into her shoulders, drive the filth of living in hiding off her in rivulets. Her latest layer of wash-out hair dye lifts with the lather and sluices down the drain. 

She stays upright against the grain of her exhaustion. She stays under the water for thirteen minutes. She steps out of the shower to find a fluffy bathrobe ready and warm for her.

"Thanks, FRIDAY," she says, the first words she's spoken in a day or two, and a tablet lights up beside her, blinking softly as she dries her hair. She picks it up and carries it with her to bed, slips under the covers and feels it fall from her fingers as she shuts her eyes.

"FRIDAY," she says quietly as she feels sleep overtake her. "Could you tell Tony I'm here?"

"He saw you on the cameras, Agent Romanoff," says FRIDAY, just as softly. "He has a message for you: _Welcome home, Itsy Bitsy. Get some rest._ "


End file.
